Of Poinsettias and Camera Film
by dcrassle
Summary: AU. His eyes were brighter than the flickering Christmas lights that mocked her loneliness.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Soul Eater

**A/N:** I'm thinking this will be just a short two-ish chapter story. A Christmas fic in the middle of summer. Hah. I blame my cravings for hot choco. **  
**

* * *

**Of Poinsettias and Camera Film**

She stares at the overcast sky, the dark clouds promising a steady fall of snow. She tightens the coat and braces herself for the onslaught of the unforgiving winter winds. Adjusting the pair of thick wire-rimmed glasses perched on her pert nose, she looks at the scene before her. The snow covered the city, its' iridescent white glow a stark contrast to the dull and lifeless gray of the concrete jungle.

The people inside buildings were all cheering, laughing and having the one heck of a good time. The colourful lights hanging above her twinkle mockingly at her, reminding her again of the date today.

_ Merry fucking Christmas_

The tinkling laugh of the children in the snow covered street, making deformed versions of snow men, drew her attention. She takes her equipment from her messenger bag and steadily holds the camera at her eye level. She snaps several shots of the kids playing, finding it difficult to get a good shot while the kids were all moving. Eyes rapidly scanning the pictures taken and deleting those undesirable, she packed her stuff and went on her way.

She usually racked in the cash during these months, people hiring her to take the picture of their most cherished moments from baptisms, weddings, birthday parties…she's been to plenty of them. She's been to plenty of intimate occasions, that she now knows how to read people from their body language, her camera providing the barrier to make her feel like she's watching a tv show.

She checked her wristwatch and _holyfuckinshit _she's late.

She was supposed to go to a recital today, take a few pictures of the musicians performing, get out and give the shots to her client. Maka remembers him quite well, a tall man with kind blue eyes and snow white hair.

* * *

She's sitting at a quaint café in her town, her usual order of strawberry and mint cheesecake and steaming cup of café au lait being laid on the table. Her eyes were scanning the pictures she's developed for the past few months. She needed to arrange her damned portfolio, she needed to arrange her life for goodness sake.

At the corners of her eyes she noticed someone approaching her, a person with…white hair?

"Please take pictures of a musician playing during his solo piano performance."

The sudden introduction of the gentleman left her with a fork paused near her mouth, the delectable cheesecake just centimeters from being eaten.

_Maka, stop. You are a professional._

"And you are?"

"Wes. Wes Evans."

* * *

Catching her breath, she stares at the building in apprehension. The architecture of the building reminds her of one of the towers in _Notre Dame_, gargoyles and what-have-you. She marvels, wonders and observes the elegant sweep of the arches and delicate ornaments on the wall. The Christmas decorations were simple, bunches of poinsettias' littering the lobby, the rich red complementing the gold undertones of the room.

She suddenly feels out of place with her ratty chucks and oversized sweater.

The woman by the reception ushered her to the back of the building, presenting the huge guy by the door with the name 'Sid' printed across a tight black shirt with her ID.

Backstage was filled with musicians busy with their instruments, people shouting for cues and the props. The life, energy and vibrancy just takes your breath away. She snaps a few shots and resumes walking by unnoticed.

She walks nearer to the opening of the left wing of the stage, near enough to see the current performer but still hidden from the audience. It takes her a few moments to adjust her eyes to the brightness from the numerous spotlights.

Maka's eyes widens as she takes in the number of people in the audience, she quickly darts her eyes to the new performer who was just entering from the right wing.

He slowly makes his way to the piano, his eyes hovering over the ivory keys.

The man with the white hair played.

Maka wasn't the type of person who knew music, but the piece he was playing, she could _understand_. It was a wild clashing of keys, all in perfect disharmony, the emotion bleeding through swept her made her _feel _it.

She steadied her camera and took a picture of the man on the piano. When she looked back at the man, their eyes met.

If he ever acknowledged her presence, he never let it show through his playing. He never faltered a single note, never missed a single beat. He finishes off the piece with a flourish, the dark notes dissolving into lighter notes.

She weaves through the people backstage and finds an empty hallway. The concert is over and buzz is slowly ebbing away, the musicians pack away their belongings and the stage is being cleaned up. The performers chat amiably with one another, parting to get home for the holidays for warm food and jolly company.

It made her lonely. She was here taking pictures of precious moments, while she can't even remember when she last took picture of _her _happy memories. It was a pity all she had at home was a black cat who asked for too much milk during winter. She packs her equipment and promises herself a hot cup of tea and a good book back home.

Rummaging her bag for her camera, she bumps into a person.

Her eyes travel upwards and she finds the familiar shock of white hair.

It's Wes' younger brother. The man on the piano.

"Soul. Soul Evans"

* * *

After Maka finished her cheesecake, she looked at Wes, who was currently reviewing her portfolio.

"You're an Evans, huh? So I'm assuming that you're the famed violinist?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm still not used to people knowing me."

"So tell me about your brother looks like."

"He look a lot like me, so you should easily recognize him."

She takes a few minutes to savor her perfect cafe au lait and regards him with curious eyes.

"Out of all the photographers here in and out of Death City, why me?"

"To be honest, you weren't my first choice. I had other photographers try to deal with my brother, but he's a bit hard to handle. A friend told me that you take no bullshit when it comes to your photography."

Maka just smiles into her cup.

* * *

He holds out his hand and Maka might have stared for seconds to long, because he starts to withdraw it. _Smooth, Albarn._

The younger Evans' did bore a resemblance to his brother, but there were several noticeable differences. His shoulders were wider, his hair was longer, his face was all sharp angles and lines and _ohmygosh_ were those red eyes? It didn't help that he was wearing a black pinstriped suit and a deep red shirt that made them stand out even more.

"Maka. Maka Albarn." Her voice is crisp and clear, cutting through the warm, damp air backstage.

"I saw you take pictures from the wings."

"I'm a professional photographer."

"Yeah, can you delete your shots of me?"

_What_.

"Um, excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. Delete. The. _Fucking_. Pictures."

_Oh no he fucking didn't._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Soul Eater

**A/N: **All mistakes are mine and hopefully this doesn't seem to OOC, but then again this is an AU. Still ain't satisfied with how things worked out, I may rewrite this in the future.

* * *

This little shit had the audacity to question her integrity as a photographer. She was so fucking angry right now. More angry than the time Black Star stuck gum to one of her pigtails in second grade. She was _seeing_ red.

_Maka, you're a professional._

She takes a deep breath, because her carefully worded response will determine how their conversation will progress.

"Fuck you."

_Downhill it is then.  
_

He tries to reach for camera and warns him that she could punch him in the face and get away with it.

"What?! You got to be kidding me, give me the damned camera."

Maka braces herself, her small frame was no match for Mr. Tall and Lean. "Or I could just demand you for messing with my property." She keeps the camera far away from him as possible, his previous actions against her precious camera brought to abrupt halt.

"You're a fucking bitch."

* * *

They discuss the general details and exchange phone numbers.

"Please be patient with my brother, most of the time his bark is worse than his bite. Once you get to know him a bit more, he's not that bad."

"Why would I need to know him better? I just need a couple shots, right?"

Wes smiles at her. "It's just a hunch."

She grabs her bag and bids him farewell. It was nearly evening now and the little town square was beginning to change itself. The signs on the shops light up one by one, people started to flock around the small shops to buy presents for their families and friends, and little by little she starts to feel the warmth of the Christmas season.

Until a fight started outside Joe's bar.

* * *

"When your brother told me that you were hard to handle, I'm starting to think that's a big understatement." She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him. He still tries to grab her camera at every opportunity she inadvertently gives him.

He takes a sharp breath and stops his assault, annoyed eyes still eying her camera.

"It was _Wes_ who sent you?" His voice raises a timbre, ire now fully visible. He quickly drops the formal façade all together and matches her glare with one of his own.

After a few beats, he looks away and he whips out his phone.

Maka can't hear the conversation per se, but when she hears the crackle of laughter, she knows enough to know that it was Wes.

"Yes, I met her. Fuck you Wes, I think I've got bruises because of that chick."

She looked around while he was on the phone and observed the rest of the backstage. The dusty sheets, the overhead lights and the different props that were up against the wall. It was then, she realized that they were both alone. She looks at her reflection: tousled hair, skewed glasses and the strap of her messenger bag was fraying.

She hears his voice, a deep, rich laugh echoing through the halls.

If he wasn't such a bastard, she would find him handsome.

The big guy from outside peeks in. "Everyone's left already, you okay there Soul?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks Sid."

He shouts out for her, tells her to hurry her skinny ass. She just hits him on the head with a planner. While she walks to the exit, she misses the smile that he directs at her. Their banter filled the silence around them and Maka felt that she wasn't alone.

When they reach the front of the parking lot and start to part ways, he calls out her name.

"Do you have a ride?"

"No, I usually take the bus at this hour."

"The bus? You'll more likely die waiting for it with those clothes on. C'mon let me take you home."

She looks down at her shoes and feels the cold snow even with her thick socks on.

He holds out a spare helmet but he doesn't look at her, he looks at the falling snow and anywhere else that isn't her face.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

Maka remembers her first Christmas alone, her Papa drunk in some seedy bar while her Mama constantly travels around the world.

She wonders if they even remember that they have a daughter.

So she celebrates her Christmas alone, a small cup of chocolate for her, a whole fish for Blair and a new book to pass the time.

The crackling of firewood and the content purring of Blair fills up her small cold world.

* * *

They've managed to reach the front of her apartment complex, the orange monstrosity managing to cut holiday traffic. She hands him his helmet and she manages to squeak out a 'thanks'. She walks quickly through the ankle-deep snow blanket to get to the front doors.

Sneaking a glance back to the near empty road before she enters, she sees him looking back at her.

The snow may have left her body cold, but she's sure that her face feels warm.

She reaches her apartment door with little difficulty, the rest of the complex in a merry mood.

The silence of the room never felt louder in her entire life.

She unpacks her equipment from their casings and plops down the bed while she makes hot chocolate. Reviewing the photos that she took for the day, her eyes scan the last picture. Soul was facing the camera, unaware of its' presence while he was just starting his performance. She sees how his eyes reflected the light overhead. The spark of madness bringing the piece to life. The way he played with wild abandon.

It was awe-inspiring.

Her phone rings and she notices two unread messages.

One from Wes and another one from an unknown number.

_can't meet up tomorrow, board meeting_

_soul would be there instead._

_he won't try to get your camera again, promise._

_t.y._

_p.s i gave your # to him._

_-W._

Maka feels her heartbeat speed up, her body a jumble of tangled nerves. She's pretty much sure that this feels like preparing for a fall.

She opens the second message.

_Hey._

_-S._

She looks outside her window from her lonely little flat and sees the red Christmas lights hanging from the shop across the street. It reminds her of his eyes, seemingly luminescent while he plays. It reminds her of happier times, of her passions in life and the wonders you can find in other people.

She hopes that look would be directed at her one day.


End file.
